The Spirit in Man and Society

Spirituality as Consciousness

Once, in the distant year of 1982, while addressing young scholars on the issue of consciousness, the renowned Soviet philosopher Merab Mamardashvili (1930-1990) began his discourse with an unexpected yet original warning: "From the very beginning, we must agree that consciousness is something about which we, as humans, know everything, while as scholars, we know nothing." A good decade prior to this, a then-young American researcher, Daniel Dennett (b. 1942), expressed a similar sentiment: "Those who are certain of the futility of philosophy enjoy referencing its history and claim that no progress can be detected within it. In no field of philosophy can this assertion be more easily substantiated than in the philosophy of consciousness." How should we regard such statements from authoritative figures in the philosophy of consciousness? Is there not an element of cunning in their pedagogical techniques or something akin to Socratic irony? Such thoughts may arise depending on the audience to whom the remarks are directed. Since both Mamardashvili and Dennett addressed their colleagues, they fully recognized the challenges awaiting anyone who wishes to contribute something radically new and convincing regarding the essence of consciousness, thereby bringing an end to disputes and uncertainties, a topic that has captivated philosophers for nearly 400 years. What titans of thought have dedicated their entire creative lives to it! One cannot help but feel intimidated in their presence. At the same time, it is hard to believe that our authors could not convey something clear to a beginner in philosophy regarding consciousness, at least about how centuries of experience have taught us to frame questions about it correctly and how we should not discuss it today. We will embark on such a trajectory. However, first, we must agree on our terminology, as there exist notable differences in specialized vocabulary between foreign and domestic scholarly works.

The term "mind" commonly used in English-language publications is typically translated into Ukrainian as "свідомість" (consciousness), though it more accurately denotes "reason" or "thinking" (in the broad sense in which Descartes employed it), a notion traditionally held by the classics of foreign philosophy. Another English term, "consciousness," is also translated as "свідомість," yet here it refers to the state of the psyche wherein a person regulates their behavior—this aligns with the meanings conveyed by phrases like "to be conscious" or "to lose consciousness." The domestic tradition of uniformly using "свідомість" where English authors use "mind" and where they refer to the specific state of human psyche that can sometimes be lost may occasionally create confusion. The domestic vocabulary has likely been influenced by German philosophy. The German word "Bewußtsein" (consciousness) contains a hint of the verb "wissen" (to know) in its root, just as the Russian "сознание" reminds one of the verb "знать" (to know), while the Ukrainian "свідомість" suggests the Old Slavic "ведать," also meaning "to know." What kind of knowledge is being referenced? It pertains to the fact that only humans relate their inherent sensations, perceptions, and other images to themselves as a certain center, the bearer of these mental images, and in this sense, they know about them as their own images, are aware of them, and thus, ultimately, only humans possess consciousness. These observations must be taken into account in order to correctly compare the views of philosophers from different countries and traditions.

Speaking generally about our tradition, the concept of consciousness is utilized in domestic texts in two senses: broad and narrow. In the broad sense, it encompasses all the psychological processes inherent to humanity (English authors use the term "mental" here), and thus it can be asserted that the spiritual is realized in humans as consciousness. In its narrow sense, consciousness signifies only the higher form of a person’s spiritual comprehension of themselves and the surrounding world, that is, reason and thought (the English literature uses the term "mind" in this context).

Thus, we have delineated the object of our inquiry. It will be consciousness as a spiritual phenomenon unique to humanity. We can confidently assert this on the grounds that each person knows about their inner spiritual world and can communicate their own experiences to others. The very fact of linguistic communication indicates the presence of spirituality in other representatives of the human species; language grants access to it. Given the essence and role of language in society, as discussed in a dedicated section, one can argue that the functioning of living language, in a certain sense, also attests to the intersubjectivity of the spiritual, its transindividuality. Whether animals possess spirituality remains unknown, as we lack linguistic contact with them. The potential inner world of animals is closed to us, and more due to this reason, to avoid being unjustifiably categorical and to exercise caution in judgment, we assert that animals do not have consciousness as a form of spirituality.

The object of inquiry defined thus indicates that questions regarding the structure of consciousness and its substantive content lie beyond our focus, as they are secondary in philosophical terms; they pertain more to psychology and certain other sciences. We will concentrate on the central theme of centuries-old philosophical explorations: what, by its nature, are thoughts (as spiritual, as consciousness) about the world, and what relation do they have to it; how can we ascertain that there exists anything beyond our thoughts; and what is distinctive about the philosophical approach to consciousness. Philosophers have often employed the method of introspection (from the Latin introspectus—looking inward) to resolve these questions concerning consciousness, for each individual carries with them a laboratory for the study of consciousness—they carry it in their head.

Many renowned philosophical schools concerned with the essence of consciousness have appealed precisely to common sense and careful self-observation by each bearer of their own mind. Thus, let us briefly examine the course of the discussion.

One of the earliest philosophers of the modern era, René Descartes, adopted a dualistic (from the Latin dualis—double) stance on the parallel existence of the physical and spiritual worlds. As a scholar accustomed to rational and systematic thought, Descartes focused on thinking as the primary attribute of the soul and soon reached the conclusion that the center which thinks its thoughts is the "I," that is, my (and each of ours) person. In order to think, it is not necessary to have an external world present, for a person possesses images even in dreams. However, for thinking to occur, the presence of the "I" as a thinking thing is necessary. "I am a substance," Descartes writes, "the whole essence or nature of which consists in thinking and which requires no place for its existence and does not depend on any material thing. Thus, my 'I,' the soul that makes me what I am, is entirely distinct from the body and is easier to know than the body; and even if it were to cease to exist entirely, it would not stop being what it is." The mental and the physical differ in that thoughts occur in time and do not possess spatial characteristics. According to Descartes, we cannot assert that our brain is our consciousness, or that we think through our brain. Descartes would rather accept this response: we think through consciousness, which is an immaterial substance.

Dualism inevitably invites critical scrutiny regarding the possible interaction between two realms of phenomena—mental and physical. Descartes anticipated this inquiry and exerted considerable effort to construct a coherent response. In discussing the independent thinking of our mental self, Descartes did not deny the existence of a connection between the soul and the body (as they are both destined by the Creator to exist together) across various dimensions; he even necessarily assumed such a connection and perceived no contradictions within his dualistic stance. He stated, "I deal only with the mind itself and its pure thinking, concerning which I need not search far, as I find the mind within myself." In his work The Passions of the Soul, he elucidated the bond between soul and body: "Let us then consider that the soul is primarily located in a small gland situated in the center of the brain, from where it is emitted (emphasis mine) throughout the body via spirits, nerves, and even blood, which, by participating in the actions of the spirits, can disperse them through the arteries to all the members... Furthermore, this small gland—the main location of the soul—is positioned amidst the cavities that contain these spirits, allowing them to move it in as many different ways as there are perceptible distinctions in objects. Yet the soul can also provoke various movements within it; the nature of the soul is such that it receives numerous impressions, meaning it experiences numerous sensations, which in turn produce different movements in this gland. Accordingly, the machine of our body is structured so that depending on the various movements of this gland—triggered by the soul or some other cause—it acts upon the spirits surrounding it and directs them through the brain pores, where they pass through the nerves into the muscles; thus, the gland sets the parts of the body into motion.

While it is justly acknowledged that Descartes pioneered the conception of the self as a center of consciousness, he was not always consistent regarding the limitation of the self to mere thought, nor in the execution of his dualism, since the independent thinking self is complemented by a myriad of mental passions arising from the body, thus expanding my self to encompass the entirety of the corporeal complex with which I find myself inextricably entwined. Descartes' inconsistencies were partly addressed by his followers. For instance, Nicolas Malebranche (1638-1715) argued that God arranged everything such that the modalities of the soul accompany the modalities of the physical world. This thought, which Gottfried Leibniz also approached, is known as the concept of psychophysical parallelism, as it posits that alongside the physical series of events, a series of mental events occurs, with these two series of events coinciding purely by chance, possessing absolutely no interdependence. Attempts to uphold a dualistic position continue to this day. The contemporary English scholar of consciousness theories, Stephen Priest, points to the views of Karl Popper and several others as unequivocally dualistic.

Benedict de Spinoza, a younger contemporary of Descartes, likewise perceived a fundamental human distinction in the capacity for rational thought, yet he decisively rejected a dualistic explanation of human nature. For him, a person is a specific modification of certain fundamental attributes (it is worth noting that the term derives from the Latin attributio—property) of a single substance. The attributes are essential properties of an eternal and infinite substance, independent of one another but inseparable from the substance. There are numerous such properties; however, Spinoza speaks only of two: extension and thought. Under the attribute of thought stretches a long chain of modes—all emotions, passions, sensations, thoughts, and ideas. A person, representing a unity of an extended body and a thinking soul, is also a mode of the attributes of substance. Spinoza maintained that regardless of which attribute we present the substance under, all are equivalent concerning it, as they are attributes of the same substance. From this arises his famous assertion about the coincidence of the order and connection of ideas with the order and connection of things, elucidating how Spinoza transcended Descartes' dualism. The crux of the matter is that there was no longer a need to resort to convoluted explanations to account for the presence of thoughts alongside the physical series of phenomena; rather, thoughts and extended physical phenomena express the fullness of the existence of the substance in a manner unique to each attribute at any given time.

Should we turn to certain works addressing the problem of consciousness by the contemporary English philosopher Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), we find reflections reminiscent of Spinoza’s position, specifically the attribution of opposite properties—mental and physical—to a singular reality. It is worth noting that Russell does not cite Spinoza among his predecessors but instead references the Austrian physicist and philosopher Ernst Mach (1838-1916), who, in several works, particularly in The Analysis of Sensations and Knowledge and Error, argues against the division of phenomena into physical and mental: "All physical things that I find can be broken down into elements that are currently indivisible: colors, tones, pressures, heat, odors, spaces, times, etc. These elements manifest themselves depending on conditions that lie outside and within I (the spatial limitation of our body). To the extent that these elements depend on conditions within I, we also call them sensations. To the extent that my neighbors' sensations are as little given to me directly as mine are to them, I have grounds to consider the same elements, on which I have broken down the physical, as also elements of the mental. Hence, the physical and mental contain common elements and, thus, there is no stark opposition between them as is usually recognized.

Mach further illustrates his thoughts by denoting a certain body as the complex ABC, my body as the complex KLM, and the complex "I" as αβγ. It seems that ABC is independent of "I." However, this independence is only relative and disappears upon closer examination. It turns out that the complex ABC is always defined, among other things, by the complex KLM. Thus, Mach concludes, there is nothing to oppose the complexes αβγ, KLM as "I" to the complex ABC. The boundaries of our "I" can be so expanded that ultimately they encompass the entire world. The opposition between "I" and the world, sensation or phenomenon, and the thing then disappears, and the matter reduces solely to the connection of the elements αβγ, ABC, KLM. It is likely that anyone who reads Mach's thoughts will assert that their author stands on a position of conditionality in the judgment regarding the nature of the spiritual (consciousness), since everything a person engages with pertains to one and the same, to the same foundational elements. If we correctly interpret Mach, how does his position differ from that of Spinoza? Let us once again listen to Spinoza: "Thus, for example, the circle that exists in nature and the idea of this circle, which is also in God, are one and the same thing expressed through different attributes." We do not see a significant difference between Mach's and Spinoza's views. Now let us compare their thoughts with what Russell says concerning the mental and physical.

Everyday common sense believes, Russell states, that we know something about spirit and something about matter; it (i.e., this same common sense) also holds that this "something" is sufficient to demonstrate that spirit and matter are absolutely opposed entities. Russell, however, is of a different conviction: we do not have enough arguments to prove whether the physical world differs from the spiritual world or not. Continuously appealing to the common sense of the reader, Russell proposes to begin with the existence of a certain spatiotemporal "reality" (let us set aside the question of the nature of this reality as fundamentally unsolvable), composed of events. When people use expressions like "physical world," "mental world," they do not always recognize the conditionality of these expressions and the uncertainty of their meanings. Do we have any grounds to presume that physical events are qualitatively different from mental events? Russell leans toward the view that events can be described in both physical and psychological terms and that eventually we will succeed in avoiding the fatal predicament, forgetting the habitual tendency to navigate the uncertain dilemma of "mental—physical," "consciousness—matter," and simply speaking of events in certain causal relations.

As we can see, from the time of Spinoza to the end of the last century, the idea of a possible two-dimensional interpretation of a fundamental reality has persisted in various forms, presenting it as either the physical world or the mental. It can be confidently asserted that such an answer regarding the nature of consciousness could not satisfy philosophers who sought certainty, those convinced that the left is always merely left, and the right is right. Many thinkers fall into this category, which can be divided into two primary groups: idealists and materialists, with skeptics positioned between them. It is challenging to speak meaningfully about the representatives of each group, for instance, I. Kant distinguished no fewer than 7 to 8 kinds of idealism, and multiple types of materialism have also been identified. The tradition of dividing philosophers into proponents of materialism and idealism emerged during the Modern era, and it does not directly stem, as is sometimes assumed, from recognizing either matter or consciousness as "primary" in the structure of the world. Rather, it is linked to the justification of foundational principles or assumptions for constructing scientific (and philosophical) knowledge. For example, when F. Engels asserts that principles cannot be the starting point of research but are rather its concluding results, that principles do not apply to nature and human history but are abstracted from them, and that nature and humanity do not conform to principles but, conversely, principles are true only insofar as they correspond to nature and history, this position is termed materialism. When a philosopher contends that individuals never embark on the path of knowledge from some initial null level, receiving only at the end abstracted principles “from nature and human history,” but rather possess some prior knowledge that needs merely to be clarified within themselves and organized, such that individuals are only tasked with bringing their prior intuitions into the form of a logically coherent conceptual framework, this philosopher may be labeled an idealist. Thus, when we investigate the views of philosophers aligned with either materialist or idealist perspectives regarding the nature of consciousness, we must remember that for them, the primary focus is the quest for the origins of science, rather than the search for answers to questions about the essence of consciousness; the latter is secondary to them. And yet, what do they say about consciousness when they specifically address this subject?

A classic example of the idealist viewpoint is George Berkeley's concept, which we discussed in the first chapter. As we recall, Berkeley posited that one can only speak of the existence of things in the sense that they are perceived either by each of us or by God, and to speak of things outside of perceptions is simply absurd. Therefore, in constructing a system of knowledge, one should start from the premise that only complexes of sensations exist for us, and to discuss some physical, non-mental things makes no sense whatsoever. Regarding such an extravagant viewpoint, which is articulated not by madmen, one might echo the words of E. Mach, who stated that the position of the idealist-solipsist does not discredit the perspective of the common person, who undoubtedly distinguishes between the existence of the external world and their internal, spiritual world. The task here is different, namely: “To show why and for what purpose we adopt this viewpoint for most of our lives and why, for what purpose and in what direction we are compelled to temporarily abandon it. Professor X, theoretically considering himself a solipsist, is undoubtedly not so when he thanks the minister for a received order or when he lectures in his classroom.” Berkeley's goal was singular—to discredit not the viewpoint of naive realism held by ordinary people, but the perspective of atheism that drew ideological inspiration from materialism.

Materialism, in its most consistent form, has always leaned toward the notion that if something exists, it exists in a physical form; thus, phenomena of consciousness are, in essence, closer to phenomena of the physical order. “Mind or thought,” wrote the German materialist philosopher Ludwig Büchner (1824-1899), “is not mere matter; it is material only in the sense that it is an expression of a material substrate, from which it is as inseparable as force from matter; in other words, this peculiar manifestation is as inseparable from its peculiar material substrate as warmth, light, and electricity are from their substrates.”

The skeptical position can be illustrated by reference to D. Hume. Initially casting doubt on the notion of substance as a separate foundation of physical phenomena, Hume concludes that the question of the substance of the soul as the basis of our perceptions is equally unfathomable to reason. He anticipated that some possible opponent would appeal to the argument from the existence of the Self (the very Cartesian conscious center) and therefore proceeded to critique this Self. He denies that a person is aware of what they call their Self in a direct manner every moment. In reality, Hume argues, we do not have any perception from which we derive the idea of the Self. Let us listen closely to this astute Scottish philosopher: “As for me, when I examine most intimately what I call my Self, I always encounter some particular perception of warmth or cold, light or shadow, love or hatred, suffering or pleasure. I cannot seize my Self as something that exists outside of perceptions, and I cannot notice anything other than some perception.” Thus, in reality, we are “nothing other than a bundle or collection of different perceptions that pass one after another with incredible speed and exist in constant flux, in constant motion.” For some contemporary philosophers, Hume has effectively become a spiritual father in their attempts to reconsider the problem of consciousness, liberating it from the dependence on thinking within the framework of the opposition between the "physical" and the "mental." S. Priest names among them representatives of behaviorism and functionalism, while we shall add to this the position of American philosopher R. Rorty. In particular, the English philosopher of the behaviorist direction, Gilbert Ryle (1900-1976), employed Hume’s critique of the Self to refute the dualistic “myth of Descartes,” that is, the still widely held notion that everything that exists or occurs has the status of either physical existence or mental existence. Just as coins appear before us either as heads or tails, and just as among living creatures there exist either males or females, so it is assumed that one existence is physical existence, and the other is mental existence. It is believed that material objects exist in a common field understood as space, and what happens to one body in one part of space is mechanically linked to what occurs with other bodies in its other parts. In contrast, mental events occur only in isolated realms, each of which is called consciousness, and there is no direct causal connection between what happens in one consciousness and what exists in another. People, Ryle asserts, can see, hear, and push each other’s bodies, but they are incurably blind and deaf to the workings of another consciousness and are unable to influence it. Individuals know about their inner mental world through their “own privileged access” to it. Ryle considers this entire setup fundamentally erroneous and labels it the “dogma of the ghost in the machine,” for when it is assumed that consciousness resides within bodies, it becomes clear that there cannot be any meaning to the word “within,” as consciousness is not spatial. The dogma of the ghost in the machine implies the existence of souls and bodies, that physical and mental processes occur, that mechanical and mental causes underlie bodily movements. Ryle contends that the conjunctions uniting two different series are absurd, as absurd as the conjunction in the humorous expression, “She arrived home in a car and in tears.” Or as we used to joke: “It was raining and there were two students; one student was in a depressed state, while the other was in galoshes.”

The author does not deny the existence of mental processes; he merely wishes to convince us that the phrase “mental processes exist” belongs to a different category than the phrase “physical processes exist,” and thus it makes no sense to combine these phrases. Ryle concludes that idealism and materialism are responses to a poorly posed question: the “reduction” of the material world to mental states and processes, just as the “reduction” of mental states and processes to physical states and processes, presupposes the validity of the disjunction “either consciousness or bodies exist (but not both at once).” He asserts that the quantifier of existence is not a generic characteristic for physical bodies and mental states, and that “existence” in relation to physical bodies and to mental states is used in different senses. This is akin to understanding that “the rise in prices,” “the rise in hopes,” and “the rise in the average level of crime” cannot be united in the manner: “now we have three things rising—prices, hopes, and the average level of crime.” All such confusion arises from ontological, “category mistakes,” from the improper use of our language, and Ryle sets out to demonstrate how one can cure oneself of the inclination toward such mistakes.

In the case of consciousness, the incorrect use of generic or abstract concepts leads to the postulation of entities that do not actually exist. The term "consciousness" is not a name for some particular, non-physical essence; rather, it is employed to denote certain human skills and capacities, which Ryle examines in detail: will, emotions, sensations, perceptions, imagination, memory, intellectual operations, and so forth. These abilities and capacities cannot be attributed the property of existence in the sense in which one speaks of the existence of physical bodies. The fact that people constantly see something with their mind's eye and hear something with their inner ear does not prove that those things they see and hear truly exist, nor does it affirm that they actually perceive anything at that moment. For example, melodies may indeed whirl in my head, yet no melodies exist that can be heard while they are swirling in my mind. Ultimately, Ryle aimed to convince us of the following: "To speak of consciousness is to speak of human abilities, responsibilities, and inclinations to do or experience something, specifically to do or experience in the realm of everyday life. In truth, it makes no sense to speak as if there are two or eleven worlds. Naming worlds by the kinds of specific activity does nothing but cause confusion."

The American philosopher Hilary Putnam (b. 1926) is a representative of functionalism. As previously noted, functionalism also belongs to the attempts to generally bypass the problem of consciousness regarding the relationship between the physical and the mental. "Functionalism," points out S. Priest, "is a theory according to which a mental state is essentially the result of certain perceptual data at the input and the cause of a certain behavior at the output. Moreover, mental states are causes and consequences of each other." Putnam approaches the ancient concern shared by both laypeople and philosophers—whether we are composed of "matter" or "spiritual substance"—with a clear understanding and seeks to demonstrate that this question rests on a false premise. He acknowledges the autonomy of human mental life but insists that it should not be linked to the widespread and ancient question of matter and spiritual substance. "We could," Putnam observes, "be made of Swiss cheese, but that would not matter." He believes that fixation on the relationship between "material" and "spiritual" hinders the progress towards solving the mysteries in the philosophy of consciousness. The key concept that will help elucidate these mysteries is the notion of functional isomorphism. Two systems, for instance, two computers, can have different structures and be composed of various components (say, based on electronics and simple mechanics), yet simultaneously be functionally isomorphic, where each state in the first computer corresponds to a certain state in the second. This leads to the theoretical possibility that regardless of what the brain's program may be, a system could be created that possesses the same program but is based on a different physical and chemical foundation. "Therefore," Putnam reflects, "if I am right, and the question of matter and spiritual substance indeed lacks philosophical and religious significance, then why does it receive so much attention? Why does it so concern people?" This, he argues, should not be the focus of people's concern; what should preoccupy us is not how we can derive the capacity to learn or love from a specific realization of the brain's program and structure, but how, by acknowledging the connection between the problems of mental life and the description of the autonomous level of mental life, we can uncover that level, for we believe it exists regardless of the basis on which it rests.

Lastly, we will briefly present the thoughts of another American philosopher, Richard Rorty (1931-2007), on the problem of consciousness. This ever-rebellious contemporary thinker, in his book "Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature," revisits fundamental questions of epistemology and critically evaluates interpretations of consciousness rooted in Descartes and Kant. One of the tasks of his book was to undermine the trust placed in "reason" as something requiring a "philosophical" viewpoint. Specifically considering the complexities involved in addressing the mind-body problem, he does not propose yet another solution but aims to demonstrate that this is not a problem at all. It seems self-evident to everyone to divide phenomena into mental and physical, for behind this division lies a certain deep intuition according to which each of us unfailingly distinguishes, on one hand, pain, dreams, moods, desires, and intentions as something mental, and on the other, say, intestinal spasms and accompanying nerve processes as something bodily, physical; this intuition continually fuels Cartesian-type dualism and forms the basis for a specific philosophical language game (in the sense defined by L. Wittgenstein), which is entirely unnecessary outside philosophical texts. Rorty attributes the loss of Aristotle's understanding of substance to the 17th century, when substances (or essences) corresponded to concrete things and when it was said that a being has reason, that is, thinks and knows, as a single essence. Descartes, on the other hand, is blamed for the fact that now mental operations are ascribed to the self, to the soul as a separate substance, distinct from the body. "It would be good," Rorty emphasizes at the end of his book, "to eliminate the distinction between spirit and matter, which is perceived as the distinction between human beings and other things, or as two parts of human beings..."

In conclusion, let us summarize our prolonged journey. To what conclusions have we arrived in our quest for an answer to the question: what is consciousness in its nature as a form of human spirituality, and what is the specificity of the philosophical approach to consciousness? Consciousness, the phenomena of which comprise all the mental processes inherent to humanity, has been problematized in philosophy almost entirely in the aspect of the relationship between the mental and the physical from the 17th century to the present day. Consistent dualism led to the affirmation of the concept of psychophysical parallelism (Descartes, Malebranche, Leibniz); idealism and materialism, overcoming dualism, sought to reduce or approximate the physical to the mental, or vice versa (Berkeley, Büchner); a variant of the softened "idealist-materialist" opposition was the concept of a dual-aspect evaluation of phenomena that pertain to a single reality but can be assessed as either mental or physical depending on convenience and purpose (Spinoza, Mach, Russell); in the 20th century, influenced by analytical philosophy, a tendency emerged to entirely dissolve the problem of consciousness in the tradition of comparing and contrasting the mental and the physical (Ryle's behaviorism, Putnam's functionalism, Rorty's anti-Cartesianism) and to leave the problematic field of consciousness as non-philosophical. The latter position, that of our contemporaries, resonates with novelty, relying on a rich historical-philosophical material and considering the scientific wealth that psychology has accrued over the last century. Psychology, by the way, has taken from traditional philosophers the right to engage in futile speculations surrounding mental processes. To a significant extent, the development of cybernetics and new information technologies has sobered some philosophical traditions. Taking this into account, we can say that philosophy today stands at a crossroads regarding the problem of consciousness: it awaits either a breakthrough to a new level of generalization, a search for a new research niche, or a complete relegation of all the vicissitudes involved in the question of the nature of consciousness to the realm of historical-philosophical interest.